Nor Hell A Fury Like A Woman Scorned.
A Millennial Noir
Riley Straus stood leaning against the trunk of a patrol vehicle and lit his cigarette. As usual, the first exhale of smoke came with a curse on the cold poorly lit garage and a wave of nostalgia for the days when he could simply lean back in his desk chair, light up and stare at the case file in front of him through the haze of smoke. He was convinced he did his best thinking while smoking. It was his form of meditation, rolling the slender tube between his fingers, looking for patterns in the smoke rising off the tip.
Those days were long gone. If he were to smoke in his office now, half the station would lynch him. As a compromise, he had been told that he could vape in the office if he wanted to. They had even given him a fancy vape-cigarette for his birthday last year. He had thanked them through clenched teeth with his biggest fake smile and thrown the wretched thing in the trash as soon as no one was looking. Vaping. Ha! Not in a million years. And so, he made the trek to the garage multiple times a day to reflect bitterly on the changing times. “I’m getting too old for this job,” he muttered while he exhaled another cloud of cigarette smoke.
The world was going to hell in a hand basket. Like his latest case, it bothered him much more than it should. “Why, detective Straus, are you jealous of a dead man?” the voice of his ex wife sounded in his head, amused, mockingly, and as usual dead on.
Thomas Kendal, found stabbed in the back, beside the drivers seat of his car. Conversations with his family revealed he had been planning to go to the wedding of some distant relative. Solid middle class, he had held some nondescript cubicle job, got along well enough with his coworkers, no known enemies — not even any particularly close friends, no links to organized crime, the man had seemed like the least likely murder victim in the city.
A search of his place didn’t reveal anything suspicious either. The television was turned to a sports station. There was an opened bottle of whiskey and a single glass on the table. No signs that anything was amiss when he left the apartment that day. Toxicology reports revealed nothing.
All that changed when the tech geeks managed to open his phone and gained access to his message history and his tinder profile. Riley didn’t know how Kendal did it. He had not been wealthy, nor particularly handsome and from all the information he had gathered, quite dull. Yet, women seemed to have thrown themselves at him in droves and he averaged two dates a week. He seemed to be juggling different hookups with an ease to turn any man green with envy. It had taken them four days to narrow the list down to three “persons of interest”, as they would be labeled in official reports. In his mind, they were suspects. Everyone was a suspect.
“There you are,” an officer said, as if it were a surprise. It wasn’t, of course. Everyone knew Straus could be found in the garage if he wasn’t in his office. “The women have been brought in for questioning, like you asked.” Riley grunted and crushed his smoke. “I’ll be right there.”
Teresa Williams had turned her chair slightly away from the table so she could cross her legs, straining her tight pencil skirt. The harsh neon lighting reflected off the silky material of her blouse. Her purse was placed on the table, the logo subtle enough to not dominate the design but present enough for everyone to notice it was a Michael Kors. Delicate woven silver bracelets dangled from her wrists. Any emotions Teresa might have felt about sitting here in the police station were hidden behind her impeccable makeup. She was filing her nails.
Of all the profiles of all the guys in this city, she had to swipe right on Thomas, Riley thought wryly as he walked into the room. “There’s that jealousy again,” his ex wife chirped in. “If it bothers you so much, why don’t you ask her?”
“That is my job, you know.” Riley grumbled to the voice of his ex. It was only when Teresa looked up, slightly puzzled, that he realized he had been talking out loud. Too old, getting much too old, he scolded himself as he sat down opposite Williams.
“Do you know why you are here?” he asked. She nodded. “I need to ask you some questions about the nature of your relationship with Thomas Kendal. I understand you met via Tinder.”
“Lots of people meet on Tinder these days,” Teresa responded. There was a defensive tone to her voice.
“It’s okay Miss Williams, I am not here to judge your lifestyle. So it was strictly sexual then?”
Teresa shook her head. “Thomas was…different,” she said softly. “We were sexual yes, but he got me in a way no one else could. He allowed me to be myself.”
“Yourself, how?” Riley asked. He hoped he sounded professional and slightly apologetic, to convey these personal questions were just part of the job. But he was also curious. He really wanted to know how Kendal did it, what his secret was.
Teresa lowered her eyes and blushed lightly as she gave her answer: “He let me alphabetize his bookshelves.”
Straus stared blankly at the woman, wondering if alphabetizing bookshelves was some sort of euphemism he was too old to be familiar with.
“It bothered me, you know,” Williams continued, still not making eye contact. “Thomas had these huge, beautiful bookshelves. But all the books were just stuffed in there at random. No order at all. It was maddening from the moment I first set foot in his apartment.
“Thomas noticed right away. Instead of judging me, we drank wine and he watched me alphabetize his books. It was so…satisfying,” she sighed longingly on the last word.
Riley’s mouth had fallen open in disbelief. Of all the stories, this was one he least expected. “He watched you?”
“Yes, he said he enjoyed watching me be passionate. He even made sure the books were messed up a little before I came over, because he knew I loved putting them right.” She looked up. The detective noticed there were tears in her eyes. “I don’t think I’ll meet a man like Thomas again,” Teresa added sadly.
“Right,” he responded, a little bemused. He had some trouble wrapping his head around the information he just received, but there was no reason for him to believe Teresa was lying. He decided to move on with the interview. “Miss Williams, where were you the 18th of March, between noon and six ‘o clock?”
“I was at home, organizing my closet.”
Riley tried not to smirk. “Of course you were. Is there anyone who can confirm your story?”
“No…” she replied hesitant, then added with slightly more confidence: “But my mother did call at four. She always calls at four on Saturday afternoons.”
In stark contrast to Teresa’s immaculately pulled together appearance, Kirsten Fourier was a mess. Dressed in tight yoga pants combined with over sized t-shit, she gave the impression of being all wildly flailing arms and legs under a mass of unruly red curls, tear streaked makeup and dramatic sobs. She flung herself at the detective when he walked in, clinging to his arm she begged him to tell her there had been some mistake. Her Tommy couldn’t be dead.
“Ma’am, please, collect yourself,” Straus said, awkwardly peeling the woman off him. An officer came in with two cups of coffee. Kirsten sat down on the chair with both feet on the seat, legs pulled up so her knees were under her chin, arms wrapped around them holding the coffee cup with two hands. Straus couldn’t imagine sitting folded up like that, but Kirsten looked perfectly comfortable.
“Miss Fourier, do you know why you are here?”
“My Tommy is dead!” wailed the woman.
Hoping to cut off another sobbing fit Riley quickly said “So sorry for your loss, Miss Fourier, but I need to ask you about your relationship to Mister Kendal. I understand you met on Tinder?”
“From the first time I read his profile, with all the hidden ‘Game Of Thrones’ references, I knew we had a deep connection,” Kirsten stated as if she was revealing some huge universal truth.
“So you Netflix and chilled?” Riley asked, inwardly snorting at the absurdity of using a phrase like Netflix and chill.
“HBO, not Netflix. But yes, we are both huge ‘Game Of Thrones’ fans. We always watched the new episodes together. Never missed an episode. And when the season was over, we watch old episodes. And now…now…” her voice broke into sobs again, “Tommy will never know how it ends!”
“Ma’am, are you aware Thomas Kendal had been stabbed?”
Kirsten looked at the detective with big teary eyes and shook her head.
“The last text he received that day came from your number. Was there any reason for you to text him the Lannisters send their regards?” Riley asked sternly.
The woman’s eyes grew even bigger. Her mouth formed in a shocked ‘o’ as she realized the implication of the detective’s question.
“No, no, no, no, that was a joke,” She yelled and frantically started searching in the cloth shopping bag she used as a purse. “He asked me — God, where is that damned phone — he asked me to go to his cousin’s wedding. But I couldn’t because I had to work…” She found her iPhone and started tapping on it. “Game of Thrones was our thing. How else was I going to decline? Here, see?”
She handed the phone over to Straus. The screen was cracked, but he could still read the conversation. Interestingly enough, there were messages on Kirsten’s phone that were missing from Kendal’s phone. “Can I have my people take a look at this?”
“Anything to help my poor Tommy.”
The detective nodded and gestured to the officer following the interview from behind the two way mirror to come pick up the phone. “You mentioned you had to work,” he said to Kirsten after the officer left, “Where do you work?”
“The Pink Pussycat.”
“You’re a stripper?” Riley asked surprised.
“I’m a pole dancer,” she responded indignantly. “It’s an art.”
“Yes, ma’am. Still I imagine it is hard on relationships.”
“It can be,” Kirsten admitted. “But Tommy was…different. He loved that I danced. He used to come watch me all the time.”
“He watched you,” Riley echoed.
“Oh, yes. But not in a creepy way or anything. He said he could see my passion for dance in my performances.” Kirsten said with a blush on her cheeks. “He loved to see me be passionate.”
By the time Riley got ready for the third and final interview, he felt like he had Kendal figured out. His game, whether genuine or acted, was both simple and brilliant. Identify the thing the woman felt judged about, and not only make her feel like the thing was okay, but encourage it and spin it into the very thing that made her special and attractive. No wonder Thomas had a excess of women to choose from. “Not that brilliant, he’s still dead,” his ex wife reminded him. There was that, the detective admitted.
Out of the three women Kendal dated, Claire Samson appeared to be the most average. Not as flashy as Williams, but no where near the mess of Fourier, Clair had shown up in skinny jeans and a light sweater. Her hair was pulled back in a pony tail. She didn’t wear any makeup except for some lip-gloss. Straus found himself wondering what sort of freaky things she got up to with Thomas.
“Miss Samson, do you know why you are here?” he asked, pulling out his chair.
“Yup, Thomas Kendal got himself killed.” she snapped, clearly annoyed to be questioned by the police on the matter. Riley was surprised to hear her state it so bluntly.
“Indeed. Miss Samson, I have to ask you to describe your relationship with Mister Kendal. I understand you met on Tinder?”
“We hooked up and we fucked.” Clair responded coldly.
“Um, that’s it?” Sraus asked unconvinced.
“Yes, we hooked up and we fucked,” Samson repeated. Something set alarm bells off in Riley’s mind. “Just like thousands of people do every day, exactly what Tinder was invented for. You look for people to fuck and when you find them, you hook up and you fuck them.” It wasn’t so much her story not fitting the pattern he had established with Williams and Fourier, it was the way she spat out her words. Irritation that only barely hid deep seated anger.
“So it was strictly sexual, then?” he prodded.
“Isn’t it always?” she snorted. “Yes, just sexual.”
“Okay.” Riley said, thinking he was dealing with a very pissed off woman. “That’s a woman scorned,” his ex-wife agreed. That voice in his head agreeing with him on anything was a rare occurrence indeed. “Miss Samson, where were you the 18th of march, between noon and six ‘o clock?”
“At home watching the game. By myself.”
“What game was that?”
“Six Nations championships.”
Riley leaned back in his chair, pleasantly surprised. “Rugby,” he said with a smile. “Do you follow the championships?”
Clair returned his smile. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” It was the first convincing thing she said.
“How about that Ireland- England game, huh?” the detective smirked.
“Oh, fantastic. I really enjoyed watching the English dreams of another Grand Slam get crushed.” Samson chuckled.
Riley hit the table, the case momentarily forgotten. “That’s what I’m talking about!” He beamed at the woman across from him. “It’s so refreshing to meet someone who knows their rugby. We should get some beers and watch together next time.”
“Make it a bottle of whiskey, and I’m in.” Clair agreed eagerly.
Straus was rudely pulled back to the matter at hand. Whiskey. And a clean toxicology report. “You didn’t watch the game with Thomas?”
Her eyes flashed with anger. “Thomas didn’t give a shit about rugby.”
“Maybe not, but if he knew you enjoyed watching the games…”
“Then what? He’d indulge me?” Samson growled. “Feed me some bullshit line about how he enjoys it when I’m passionate? Maybe that worked on the other girls he’s fucking. Until they realize he’s kicking them out of bed because he’d rather spend the rest of the evening with some sleazy whore from the Pink Pussycat, because heaven forbid a real woman demands too much of his precious time…” Clair abruptly stopped her rant and looked frightened at Straus’ stony face, knowing she had just said too much.
The deceive stood up. “Clair Samson, you are under arrest for the murder of Thomas Kendal, you have the right to remain silent,” he started with a robotic voice. Two officers rushed into the room.
“The bastard had it coming,” Clair said defiantly as one of the officers handcuffed her.
“Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law,” Riley finished his speech. He watched the officer lead her away. The second officer stood next to him, watching her go too.
“Crime of passion then?” the officer remarked, “Kendal did like ’em passionate”
“Ha!” Straus shook his head “Damned shame, if you ask me.” He really would have liked to watch some games with Clair.
“Well, you know what they say, Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned.”
Riley looked at the officer, surprised the man got it right instead of the more known misquote, and shook his head again. “Don’t go quoting William Congreve around here. People might get the impression you’re smart and promote you to detective.” He clapped the officer on his shoulder. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the damned garage.”
